


our weightless existences, down towards the core of the earth

by lol-phan-af (sunflowersocialist), sunflowersocialist



Series: beyond rhyme and reason [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Pining, Prom, Purple Prose, Slurs, background losers - Freeform, kinda i got carried away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowersocialist/pseuds/lol-phan-af, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowersocialist/pseuds/sunflowersocialist
Summary: "I went to your house to talk to you. Your dad answered the door."Richie turned to him, tears pooling in his eyes already. His chest rattled as he breathed in, whimpering as he exhaled."Nothing is wrong with you, Richie. Nothing has ever been wrong with you."*it’s about being gay in your tiny ass hometown and. love. basically. and nobody dies ever
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: beyond rhyme and reason [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662811
Comments: 14
Kudos: 222





	our weightless existences, down towards the core of the earth

**Author's Note:**

> THEY KILLED PENNYWISW THE FIRST TIME HERE. bc i hate that bitch

Growing up in a town as small as Derry was like living inside a glass box, but inside the box inside the town inside your house, your room was on fire. Smoke filled your lungs, constricting in your chest, while your mother sat on the other side of the door with a box of matches and told you to be careful around open flame.  
  
It had been on fire for so long you didn't remember the last time it wasn't, and all you knew was the charring sight of your bedroom walls and everything you ever loved turning to ash right in front of you. Outside of your room, your house sat undisturbed, your town watched as flames roared out of your window and they walked by without a word. They went home and they talked about how they couldn't believe nobody had put out the fire yet. That poor boy, they said, with a room like that. He's going to grow up and set his own kids' rooms on fire someday. 

You could see out, beyond your house, into your town, into the glass boundaries that you can't seem to break. Nobody who dies in Derry ever really dies, and Eddie watched their ghosts haunt the borders of their glass town. He was going to be the one to break that wall. Him and his friends, at the end of the summer, are all taking a hammer to that fucking wall. 

"Eds? You listening?" Richie asked, elbowing him in the side. Eddie blinked, looking away from the window and over to Richie. Oh, right. They're in study hall. It's not summer, it's February, and they still have three months left until graduation. Shit.  
  
"No, what?" Eddie long since gave up on correcting Richie on the nickname, they've known each other long enough now that whatever's stuck was going to stay stuck. Or, at least, that's what Eddie tells himself, so he can ignore the feeling he gets deep in his chest in knowing him and Richie have something uniquely theirs, that nobody else was in on.  
  
"I was _asking_ , Eddie dearest, if you had the answers to the math homework from yesterday? Because I was one _hundred_ percent too busy jackin' off last night to do it myself," he explained, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket and bouncing his leg. Richie was the smartest kid in their class without contest, but by god he never did his fucking homework.  
  
"Yeah" Eddie said, reaching over the desk in front of him and getting the worksheet pages out of his folder. "Here."  
  
Richie made a 'thank-you' noise and started copying the problems on a crinkled piece of loose leaf while Eddie rearranged everything in his folder for the umpteenth time that day.  
  
Pages and pages of loose leaf that him and Richie used to pass notes during Anatomy stuck haphazardly out of the pockets, Eddie's neat handwriting in his favorite pens, and Richie's chicken scratch written in whatever he could find to use: pencils, pens, colored pencils, a glitter gel pen he found on the floor, markers, chalk pastels from the art room. Eddie saved every page they filled, and kept them there so his mom couldn't find them and throw them away. Eddie leafed through them all, running his fingers over the grooves of their writing. 

Eddie looked over at Richie, eyebrows bunched up as he hunched over their homework. The sloping curves of his face, angled so his giant glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. He wore his jacket even in the warmth of the room, the band shirt he had underneath, washed until paper thin, not doing anything to remedy his eternally cold body. His hands flexed as he erased Eddie's problem and corrected it without asking, shaking his head to get his hair out of his eyes and to refocus his thoughts.  
  
Looking at Richie was like looking at the sun, bright and burning, a ball of energy a million miles wide in a six foot body. He was beautiful, and Eddie wasn't afraid to know it.

The day Eddie stood up to his mom, it was like standing on the edge of a new world, in the doorway of their glass box. He knew he wasn't sick, that he wasn't wrong. His mom didn't know one thing about him past his prescription list, she didn't know how he felt about his friends, about Richie. This whole time, he'd been panicking and worrying and despising himself for something his mom didn't even know existed. It wasn't cause and effect, feelings for the " _wrong_ " kind of person and piles of pills to fix it, because she didn't know a thing. It didn't make Eddie feel any less trapped, but the glass walls of their town did push back another few inches, got a centimeter thinner than before.  
  
Eddie wanted to escape Derry more than anything, but he would stay there for the rest of his life if it meant he got to spend that life with Richie. And maybe that's an issue, but not to Eddie. _Richie_ has never been a problem to Eddie.  
  
Richie turned to Eddie, full brightness of his smile all for him. "Here. Thanks, Eds." He didn't mention the problems he changed, and Eddie loved him all the more for it.  
  
"No problem."

\---  
  
Eddie paced his bedroom, staring down at the book their English teacher assigned them weeks ago, laying closed still on his bed, that he couldn't even _focus_ on because Richie was so fucking **stupid** .  
  
One thing Eddie loved about Richie from when they were kids was that he took all of Eddie's pent up rage and gave him an outlet for it. They fought and they wrestled and they ranted about each other _to_ each other and they got thrown out of the clubhouse by Stan when they tried to start bickering while the others were napping, the preferred after school activity among them recently. They picked things neither of them truly cared about and started arguments just for something to do. Richie was touch-starved and Eddie was Richie-starved and they tackled each other and shoved and elbowed and did whatever they could to get under each other's skin whenever they could.  
  
That day, though, they were _angry_ . They got kicked out of the clubhouse, again, and fought there in the middle of the woods like they couldn't help but do anything except argue. Eddie didn't even remember what their fight was _about_ , just that they both said shit and yelled shit and now Eddie was furious that Richie said those things even if he didn't remember what they were. He hated that something as trivial as a fight with Richie could make him so mad and ruin his night, but he didn't know if it was because of what he said or the fact that he hated to know Richie was mad at him.  
  
"Fuck this," Eddie whispered, shoving his book back in his bookbag and grabbing two towels from the linen closet in the hall, stomping off to the bathroom to take a shower.

He couldn't stop thinking about their fight, which was not usually how he thought of Richie when he was showering, and about what they said. Eddie was blinded by anger, replaying their arguments without words but in silence, the emotions that repeated themselves over and over. It took him two hours before he finally dried off and did his night routine, when he then collapsed on his bed, burrowed under his comforter, and fell asleep.   
  
The sound of something tapping on his window shook him awake, even more so when Eddie looked out into the darkness and saw that the sound happened to be Richie. Eddie rolled over in bed to make sure he wasn't seeing things, taking in Richie's blotchy red face, covered in tears, as he silently pleaded to be let in. Eddie's heart broke as he rushed over to open the window, catching Richie as he stumbled through and they clambered to the floor.  
  
"What's wrong?" Eddie asked, crushed under the weight of Richie's body. "Why are you out here so late?"  
  
Richie cried into his shoulder, body racking with sobs as he gripped Eddie close to him. Eddie didn't know what to do; he tangled a hand in Richie's hair, rubbing over the back of his denim jacket. He shuddered and leaned into the touch, before gasping and coughing and turning away. He pushed back across the floor until his back hit Eddie's metal bed frame, wincing and curling up into a ball. He shook like a leaf where he sat.  
  
Eddie sat across from him, but didn't touch him. "Richie, what's wrong? Is this about earlier?"  
  
He hesitated, then shook his head.  
  
"If it's about earlier, you can tell me. I'm sorry for what I said, it was stupid."  
  
He couldn't tell if he said the right thing, but Richie looked up at him. His hair was a wild nest of curls, his face still red and wet, his lips bitten and picked at so much they were bleeding. His glasses were smudged and covered in fingerprints, all so prevalent in the moonlight, the eyes behind his lenses bloodshot.  
  
"I'm sorry too. I didn't mean any of that shit." He wiped his face. Eddie nodded, looking around the room while Richie breathed slowly, shaky like he could barely get them out. His mouth opened and closed, working around words he couldn't get out. Eddie just waited, sitting there with him until he finally blurted out, "That's not the only reason I'm here." Eddie waited while Richie found the words. "My, my--"  
  
That's all he got to say before running up over past Eddie and vomiting out of the window.  
  
"Richie!" Eddie whispered, as Richie's torso hung out of the window. He pulled him back into the room by the collar of his jacket, grabbing his discarded towel from his hamper and wiping Richie's face. He was still crying, but it had gotten so bad he was dry heaving, hiccuping in between. "What _happened?"_ _  
__  
_ "I didn't know where else--" He hiccuped-- "to go. I shouldn't have come here, I'm sorry."  
  
"Richie, wait!" But it was too late. Richie was already climbing out of the window and sliding down the roof. Eddie watched, bewildered, as Richie ran back to his bike, which he rarely ever used anymore, and disappeared into the curve of his street.  
  
"Eddie! Are you alright honey?" His mom asked, pushing open his bedroom door. Eddie snapped over to look at her, putting his towel back in the hamper.   
  
"Yeah, ma. I was just putting this towel in the hamper, it was on the floor." He stared at her as normally as he could, hoping she took the excuse.   
  
"Okay. You'd better get in bed now, though; I don't want you to be up too late." She looked past him. "And close that window, you never know what might get in, and I don't want you falling out.”  
  
"Okay, mama." He sighed as the door closed and he heard his mom retreat to her own room. He looked back towards the open window, sliding it shut with shaking hands and sitting back in front of it.   
  
Eddie sat on his floor in silence for almost an hour, blood racing, wondering what got Richie so upset if their fight wasn't the answer. His home life wasn't like Eddie's, his parents loved him and let him has as much freedom as, well, a normal teenage boy, which was more than Eddie could say for himself. He was doing good in school, he wasn't fighting with any of the other Losers as far as he knew. What could've happened?  
  
If it hadn't been for the fact that Eddie woke up still sitting on his bedroom floor that morning and the ache in his back from hunching over all night, Eddie would have thought the night before was some sort of weird fever dream. He sat in homeroom next to Eddie like normal, turning to face all of their friends, who sat behind them, because he has a complex and needs any sort of audience, and they were all willing participants. He talked like normal, moved like normal, got scolded by their homeroom teacher _like normal_ , but nothing was fucking normal.  
  
Eddie couldn't stop thinking about his face the night before, shining with tears and looking so fucking broken Eddie wanted to cry.  
  
The bell rang in Eddie's ear and they all got up to leave. He stood, mustering up all the courage he had and grabbing Richie by the wrist.  
  
"Hey," Eddie whispered, watching as the room emptied and the first period class trickled in. "About last night--"  
  
"Oh, it's all good now, Eds. Thanks, though." He grabbed his one book from the desk, a notebook he somehow used for every fucking class. Eddie hated that he's so smart despite the fact that he did shit like that.  
  
"No, Richie, c'mon. Listen to me." Richie didn't say anything, but he also didn't argue. "I don't know what happened last night, and you don't have to tell me, but know that whatever it is, we can help you. All of us, or me," Eddie told him. His pulse jumped. That was too much, too revealing, too close to the inner workings of his heart. He couldn't do this. "You're never alone, dude. We love you so much." _I love you so much_.  
  
Richie nodded, swallowing so distinctly Eddie can see his adam's apple bob in his throat. The long column of his throat stood pale and stark against the darkness of his bomber jacket, dotted with birthmarks Eddie used to trace when they were kids. Eddie stared at them so he didn't have to look Richie in the eyes, scared of what Richie would see, the things he'd find out if Eddie couldn't hide them well enough.  
  
"Thanks," he croaked, and then turned and left the room.  
  
Eddie didn't see him for the rest of the day.  
  
Beverly asked about it the next time she saw him, in their fourth period French class that Eddie was one bad test away from fucking failing. He stared down at the exercise he was supposed to be doing when Bev's pencil tapped on the corner of his book to get his attention. He looked over, panic flashing quick in his chest when he saw her completed page compared to his empty one. She opened her binder clips and slid it over to him. He sighed in relief.  
  
"Where's Richie? He wasn't in last period." She snapped her gum as she spoke, but Eddie didn't mind. It was one of the things he loved about Beverly, simply because it made her _her_.   
  
Eddie shrugged. "Not sure. He's been weird all week, y'know?"  
  
"Apparently I don't? I didn't notice anything." She sat further forward in her seat. "Did he say anything to you?"  
  
"No." Eddie handed her paper back to her without a word. Beverly studied him.  
  
"Do you wanna come over to mine after school? Ben's gotta thing."  
  
Eddie was supposed to go over Richie's that night, like he did every Thursday, had told his mom not to wait up and everything, but Richie probably didn't want to see him right now. Plus, Beverly's aunt was nice, had been pretty accepting when Bev came out as bi in their sophomore year, and she treated Ben like a son since they started dating that following summer. She also made stellar ricotta cookies, and Beverly would probably be Eddie's best friend if Richie hadn't wormed his way into his fucking bones in first grade and never let him go.   
  
"Yeah," Eddie agreed. Of course, there was also the fact that he didn't want to be home, but he didn't really want to think about it. "That'd be cool."  
  
"Awesome."

The rest of the day took years to end, classes and lectures of endless bullshit while all Eddie could think about was Richie. He was, all due respect, never _not_ thinking about Richie, but usually it was about how his hands would look wrapped in Eddie's, or the crazed sort of smile he makes right before he did something fucking dumb. Now he just saw Richie's fucking _face_ and no matter how much he tried to visualize anything else, he _couldn't_ .  
  
He was still thinking about Richie when he got to Bev's house. Her aunt was downstairs making something, while they were in her room with the door open because, "even if we aren't doing _that_ , we could still make a mess out of the house," or so Beverly explained when they first came over her house shortly after she moved in four years ago.  
  
"So, why aren't you with Richie?" She asked, when he'd spaced off for the millionth time. He tended to do that a lot, apparently, Stan told him once. He just had a lot on his mind, he guessed. "I thought Thursdays were, like, your thing."  
  
"They're not our _thing_ ," Eddie lied. Thursdays _were_ their thing (They watched _The Simpsons_ in their pajamas and ate food his mother usually wouldn't even let Eddie look at) and Eddie hated when anybody pointed it out, because if Richie got uncomfortable and stopped hanging out with him, he just might have to bash the glass walls down with his bare fists and leave the fucking country. He was about two seconds away from it all day.  
  
He liked being selfish when it came to Richie's attention. It was the one thing he let himself have. Every touch was calculated, every laugh was measured and poured out with great care so it wouldn't be too little or too much. He wasn't ashamed of liking Richie, he just didn't want to get made fun of or fucking killed for it. So he was careful.  
  
When they fell asleep at Richie's house on his twin bed while watching movies, Eddie always climbed up over the covers so it wouldn't be weird if they got too close. Touch and reaction were a calculated risk, but Richie's mind was a million places at any given second, so when his attention was on Eddie, he drank it in without remorse. He wanted to be the center of Richie's entire world, and when Richie _let_ him be, Eddie refused to surrender that.  
  
It was something he would rather _die_ before ever explaining to anyone.  
  
"I just go there sometimes because we usually don't have that much homework. After our fight yesterday, though, things have been weird." Beverly looked up over a book of poems she'd been reading to see if she should give it to Ben as part of his birthday present.  
  
"Weird how?" She sat up against her headboard and set the book down. "What was the fight about?"  
  
Eddie tried to remember. "Work, I guess." He shook his head. "Like, uh, work ethic, I think. I don't remember. He went home early and I just--" _I'm worried. I don't think he's okay. I love him so much it hurts and I can't explain that to anybody else and that makes it hurt even more._  
  
"...Just?" Bev urged him on. "You can tell me anything, Eddie. You know that."  
  
"I know that, but I can't." Eddie was looking at Beverly but he wasn't seeing her. "I just, I can't"  
  
He knew she wouldn't tell anyone Eddie wasn't comfortable with knowing. He was safe with her, with any of his friends, and that they would never put him in any more danger than they'd already faced. Beverly was bisexual for fuck's sake, but there was something in his chest, a roadblock, a steel wall, he couldn't get the words out. His chest was filling with water, like their glass box was finally running out of air. The world blurred into a watercolor painting until he couldn't see Bev at all anymore and she was just smudges of red and the blue and white striped sweater she had on that day. He wasn't crying, but he wasn't that far off.  
  
His vision saved itself as Beverly touched his arm. "I know. I'm sorry for prying."  
  
Eddie crumbled. Tears flooded his eyes as Bev wrapped her arms around him, holding him even if Eddie still couldn't tell her why he was so upset or ask what she meant. He knew what she meant, and she knew what he wanted to say, and that was all that mattered.  
  
\---  
  
The sun shone in Eddie's eyes as he took his bike out of Beverly's trunk. They hadn't spoken about it, Eddie helped her with some designs she was working on and Beverly helped him conjugate verbs for French because it's his fourth year in the class and he still didn't know _être_ in the past tense. The tension faded the longer they worked, and Eddie felt like they were closer than before by the time she walked him out.   
  
Eddie breathed in Beverly's perfume as she hugged him goodbye. "Good luck with Richie. See you tomorrow."  
  
He nodded, and took off.  
  
Richie's house was on the way to Eddie's own, which he was grateful for because it meant he didn't have to go further out of the way than Bev's house and risk getting home past curfew at eleven. The lights were on in the kitchen when he stopped in the driveway, knocking on the door with his hands shaking. He was only there to talk about their fight, and what happened the night before; he shouldn't be so nervous.  
  
"Who is it?" A man asked, swinging open the door. Wentworth Tozier stood in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows and collar wrinkled and crooked. His hair was a mess, gray curls making up over half of the nest of them on top of his head. He looked tired, Eddie noticed. The wrinkles just forming weeks ago were deep set now. "Oh, Eddie. Richie isn't home right now."  
  
"Wait!" Eddie shouted, too loud in the quiet street, as the door started to close on him. "Do you know where he is? I need to see him."  
  
Went sighed and looked down at the floor. When he looked up, something inside of him had shifted. "No, I don't, and I’m not particularly concerned.” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. "Wherever that fucking fag is, as long as it's not here I don't care. Fucking lucky I didn't throw his fairy ass out. Why do you want to know?"  
  
Eddie shook his head, his blood rushing so loudly through his ears it was making him dizzy. His tongue was a dead weight in his mouth, which had gone dry in his panicking. He couldn't see, he was blind with fear and rage and heartbreak for Richie and hatred for Went he almost blacked out. His face was burning, his fists balling up, but he didn't hit him. For god's fucking sake he did _not_ hit Richie's father, because he would just take it all out on Richie, and Eddie will not put him through anymore than he's seemingly already been through.  
  
"I just had to ask him something for school," Eddie managed. He forced his hands to unfurl and he smoothed down his button down shirt, storming away and grabbing his bike. He had to find Richie.  
  
His legs burned as he pedaled down the street. He listed off places he could be, _clubhouse, quarry, Stan's, Bill's, my house_ …  
  
Thoughts passed through his mind at the speed of light. Existing in Derry, in their glass town, in his house, the simple act of Eddie existing through Bowers through Pennywise through his own fucking mother, was a revolution. His room had been burning for years and Eddie had not yet blown away to nothing but dust. He was an army's worth of men in one person, and this whole time Richie might've been fighting right next to him, without him knowing. It felt like he was on top of the world and the bottom of the ocean all at once.  
  
Richie. Richie, Richie, Richie. Richie, who once when Eddie was getting picked on in the second grade for not being able to play in phys ed with the rest of them, threw a dodge ball at the back of their elementary bully's head so hard he knocked him over and gave him a brush burn that lasted for two weeks. Richie, who Eddie always made an extra sandwich for for lunch in case he forgot his lunch money that day, which he did almost every day. Richie, who Eddie had been in love with since he learned what love was.  
  
_Richie_ .  
  
Eddie nearly broke the brakes on his bike as he spotted the darkened and almost unnoticeable shape of Richie sitting in the park. His glasses reflected the stars, the moon shining down on him. Eddie ran, ignoring the rough spikes of the pedal scratching the back of his legs as he threw his bike down in the grass.  
  
Despite his want to to ask a million questions, Eddie didn't say a word. He wanted to ask if it was true, because his speeding train of thought had never considered until he was halfway to Richie that maybe Richie's dad just said that, to be cruel just for the sake of being angry. To hate for the sake of being cruel. People did that sometimes, called people those things, just to mean they weren't what they wanted. Richie was all Eddie wanted, all Eddie had ever wanted, and he didn't--.He couldn't even fathom why anybody would see Richie as anything else than everything to them.  
  
Eddie wanted to ask why he was so scared, why he kept it from him for so long, but he already knew those answers. He wanted to tell Richie everything, to recount his entire life story to him because now that he had someone to tell it to correctly it would be _different._ He could tell him the whole story of the leper, he could tell him he'd been knowingly pining after him since the eighth grade. Their whole world was behind a door Eddie couldn't open until he was sure Richie wouldn't run.  
  
He sat down next to Richie, not caring about the wet grass soaking his jeans. Richie snapped over to look at him, but didn't relax like he usually did when he noticed it was Eddie. Eddie wanted to rip Richie's parents to pieces.  
  
"Why are you here, Eds?" Richie asked, voice coming out scratchy. Eddie shattered.  
  
He could lie, he could say he just saw him on his way home, even if there was no way for him to get home through the park. He could say that he just needed to be alone, away from his mom, and saw Richie sitting there. He could lie, it would be easy, but Richie had been lied to enough. He'd been told his whole life his parents would love him more than anything, and they'd fucking lied. Eddie couldn't do that to him again.  
  
"I went to your house to talk to you. Your dad answered the door."  
  
Richie turned to him, tears pooling in his eyes already. His chest rattled as he breathed in, whimpering as he exhaled.  
  
"Nothing is wrong with you, Richie. Nothing has ever been wrong with you."  
  
Richie buried his head in his knees and they sat there for a long time, until Eddie started shivering in the cold, even with his jacket on. He didn't want to touch Richie, to scare him, so he just watched the tight wrap of his own arms around his head and his hair blowing in the chill.  
  
Twenty minutes passed before Richie spoke: "How much did he tell you?"  
  
Eddie inched closer to him if only to steal his body heat. "It wasn't, like--" he searched to find the words. "He didn't _tell_ me anything, it was what he _said_ that I got the idea."  
  
Richie scoffed and tipped his head back, tears freezing on his face in the cold air. "What'd he do, call me a fag or some shit?"  
  
"...Richie…"  
  
"The worst part is that he's right. Richie Tozier, will never amount to anything except being a stupid fucking flamer. Maybe they could write that on my tombstone once Bowers finds out."  
  
"Stop! You know that's not fucking true!" Eddie shoved Richie so hard he tipped over, groaning hard as his shoulder made contact with the ground. He was going to say more, about how if Bowers tried to touch him Eddie would drive his fist through his fucking ribcage, but Richie wasn’t getting up.   
  
"Fuck!" He hissed, rolling over, side of his jacket falling away to reveal a large dark purple bruise at full bloom on his collarbone. Eddie's heart stopped. Richie laid on the ground still, trying to catch his breath after Eddie knocked the wind out of him.  
  
Eddie crawled next to Richie, pushing the neck of the shirt over and following the marks down his chest, arms, all the way to the other side of his body. Eddie could hardly breathe.  
  
"Did your dad do this to you?" Eddie whispered. Richie squirmed and tried to get Eddie off of him, but Eddie pressed down harder, making him wince. He didn't mean to, he didn't, he just wanted him to sit still. Fuck. "Richie, _did your dad do this to you?_ Did your mom? Was it fucking Bowers? Just tell me _who_ . I swear to god I'll fucking kill them, Richie."  
  
Eddie tried to stick his hands under Richie's shirt to see if there were more, but Richie shouted and rolled out from under his hands. He scrambled to stand up, mud on the back of his jacket and his jeans and probably all in his hair.  
  
"Why do you _care_ ?" He yelled, probably drawing attention to anyone around. "Like, shit, I get we're friends but _fuck_ , it's none of your business! So, so my dad hit me! It doesn't fucking matter! I probably deserved it for being such a fuck up of a son anyway! And you can't even." He looked down and tears fell into his glasses. "You can't even _tell me_ nothing is fucking wrong with me because I haven't said anything to you yet! I haven't told anyone anything, not really!"  
  
Eddie stood too, hands curled into fists again. "It doesn't matter what you say, Richie! For years you've shared all your weird personal shit with us when we didn't ever ask! We listen to you because we want to and we love you and we want to talk to you, but now you're _actually_ going through something and you shut me out? That's not fair, Richie! You can't just _do_ that!"  
  
Richie started crying again. "You don't get it, Eddie! If I told you, if I actually said it, you would _hate_ me! You think you know, and maybe you do! But not everything! You can't always know everything all the time! You can't!" He wiped his face with his jacket sleeve and fell on his knees. "You can't _know_ about this," he breathed, so quiet Eddie can barely hear. "Ever." He sat back down, arms falling limp at his sides.  
  
Eddie knelt across from him and took Richie's hands in his. It was a line he never crossed before, the brushing of fingers as they passed books or pieces of paper or a joint was all Eddie usually let himself have of Richie's hands. Here, though, he took them, in the shade of night, where nobody else could see them. They were a revolution, and this was their biggest battle yet.  
  
"That's fine," Eddie insisted. "Even if you can't tell me, that's okay, but whatever it is, it's not enough to deserve to get _beat_ , Richie. I don't know what they did to you, you don't want to show me and that's fine, but you did _not_ deserve that. If I could, I swear to fucking god, I could _kill_ your parents right now."  
  
"Don't say that." Richie squeezed his hands and pulled them, and by extension, Eddie, closer to him. "They still have to pay for college, so I'm stuck with them until then. I can handle it until then, I promise. Just, please don't leave me, or hate me. I couldn't stand it if you hated me, Eddie, please."  
  
"I won't," Eddie promised. "I won't."  
  
He hugged Richie close to him and they stayed like that until Eddie dragged him home with him. He made Richie take off his jacket and shirt and pressed ice packs all along his bruised torso. His father had only hit Richie where bruises wouldn't be able to show, he didn't want child services coming to blame _him_ for trying to 'fix' his son.  
  
Eddie's hands shook with anger as he rubbed arnica cream over Richie's numbed skin, even more so when Richie started crying again. He bandaged Richie's entire chest, over his shoulder, back down so he could finish the wrapping off. Once he was done, Eddie laid next to Richie on his bed and hugged him as loosely as he could as to not aggravate any of his bruises.  
  
"Do you feel any better?" Eddie asked, watching as Richie's eyelashes fluttered, balancing on the edge of sleep. He was so beautiful it hurt sometimes.  
  
"Yeah," he slurred. "Thank you, Eds. Love you."  
  
Eddie held him as tight as he could without hurting him. "I love you too, Richie."  
  
\---  
  
Richie started sleeping in Eddie's room almost every other night. He went home sometimes, to make sure his parents didn't go looking for him anywhere, but they mostly just ignored him. Richie tried to tell Eddie it didn't bother him, that it was better than getting the shit beat out of him, but Eddie knew it still hurt him to know the people who loved him more than anything just weeks ago, didn’t love him at all anymore for something he couldn’t change.  
  
One of the worst parts was Eddie couldn't _do_ anything. Richie still was scared to come out to the other Losers, and Eddie wasn't going to do it for him, so he sat at all hours of the day with this ball of rage sitting white-hot in his chest wanting to storm over to Richie's former home, his legal address and nothing more, and burn everything and everyone in it to the ground without being able to tell anyone _why_ he felt that way. He wanted to drive Richie's truck right through the glass wall of their town and leave with him in the middle of the night with no looking back, and he couldn't even explain to that to Richie, let alone anybody else  
  
It was one of the nights Richie was at his house. It was already a good night, as his mom was asleep in her room, so Eddie snuck Richie in through the front door instead of having him climb up the side. Richie sat at Eddie's desk chair, flannel shirt draped across his frame and illuminated by his desk lamp. He stared up at the ceiling and spun around, trying to see if he could make himself sick. Eddie, on the other hand, flipped through the fashion magazine Bev gave him. _Prom is only three months away_ , she told him, like Eddie didn't **know** that.  
  
He tried to approach this as casual as he could, sitting up further on his bed and throwing the magazine down. "Rich, do you know what you're doing for prom yet?"  
  
Richie stopped and looked at Eddie, eyes unfocused and trying to set the room straight. He laughed, crooked and out of place from where he couldn't see anything correctly yet. "Huh?"  
  
Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes. "Prom! Do you know what you're doing yet? I know Ava Plat asked you to go with her...are you going to?"  
  
Four girls asked Richie to prom, and Eddie hated every single one of them. Yes, he understood, Richie was cute as fuck and hot as hell and by _god_ him in a suit would have the power to kill anyone with working eyes, but Richie wasn't _theirs_ . Everyone in their shitty high school didn't get to make fun of them for a near-decade and then ask Richie to prom once he became attractive to them. As far as Eddie's concerned, you loved Richie when he had 50's style coke bottle glasses, braces, and had to wear night gear to school almost every day because he never actually wore it at night, or you got the fuck out.  
  
"No, she's...uh, not my type." Richie cleared his throat. "I thought we were going with Stan?" Richie asked, grabbing a pen out of Eddie's pencil cup and twirling it in his fingers. "Not, like, _going_ with Stan, but, going _stag_ with Stan. Going stag-n, going stang? Stag-stagn-stagnant? Magnet?"  
  
"Stop, just. No." Eddie grazed his pointer finger over the lines of men in suits inside his magazine. He saw Richie in every single one. "I thought Stan was going with Mike? Like, obviously not _going_ going with Mike, but they were kind of holding hands in the clubhouse earlier, and then they said they were gonna match for prom, so I kind of assumed…"  
  
"What about Bill?" Richie asked, balancing the pen on the tip of his nose. "Is he still going with that Audra girl?"  
  
"Got the dress and everything," Eddie muttered, kind of intrigued as to whether or not Richie can actually get the pen to stay still. Also, that was a stupid question for him to fucking ask, he thinks distantly. Bill asked Audra to go with him back in October, they weren't going to back out now. "And Beverly and Ben will go together as a couple, obviously."  
  
"Yeah, obviously," Richie mumbled. The pen fell off of his nose and clattered onto the floor. He didn't pick it up. "Does Bev's dress look nice?"  
  
Eddie nodded. "It's green, she made it herself."  
  
"That's my Molly." Richie smiled and started playing with the pile of papers on his desk. "So, what are you doing for prom, Eddie Spaghetti, that's got you all up in arms?"  
  
Eddie's face heated up. "I was just asking. It's not like I was planning to go with anyone anyway," he explained. _Not that anybody had asked him_ , he wanted to add, but he didn't. "I just wanted to know, because if you _were_ going with someone, and I was going alone, I would just want to know."  
  
"Why don't you have a date, then?" Richie questioned him, because no matter what they went through Richie could always figure him out without even the slightest bit of effort. "Nobody capture you dear little spaghetti heart?"  
  
Eddie shifted. "If I went with someone, they'd have to meet my mom. I'd have to _introduce_ them to my mom. No girl deserves that." He sat upright, his whole body lying on a fault line, shaking from the inside out. "Plus, if I was going to prom with a date, I wouldn't want it to be a girl. I don't want any of my dates _ever_ to be a girl, really."  
  
A long moment passed.  
  
"Oh." Richie swallowed audibly, which did not help Eddie's current situation. His whole body was on fire. The fire in his room spread into his lungs. It's in his hands, his hair, the tips of his toes, his whole body is one mass of flame. "Sorry, then."  
  
Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. "For what?"  
  
"If it's gonna be awkward to go together. Not together," he clarified. "Alone, together. Because we're both, y'know…"  
  
Eddie stared at him, the dumbass who he decided to fall in love with. The dumbass who Eddie, when he looked at him, felt like coming home and running away and being frozen in place all at once.  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, no. It won't be."  
  
"If you say so."  
  
\---  
  
If Eddie could move in with any other Loser of his choice, he would choose Bill. His house was one of the nicer ones in Derry, and his parents were always welcoming, with an open door policy and the pantry always stocked with whatever Bill thought everyone would like. Plus, Georgie would be a cool little brother to have, if Eddie knew anything about having siblings, which he thanks god he did not. He couldn't handle having a sibling either exactly like his mom or the total opposite, always invoking her anger.  
  
"Isn't this movie sad?" Beverly asked, examining the movie Mike picked out.  
  
Bill took the tape from her hand and sighed over dramatically, because that’s just how Bill was whenever it wasn’t his week to pick the movie. "That's what I said, but he won't budge."  
  
"My Girl is good! It's sad, but that's the _point_ ." Ben argued. Beverly smiled but shook her head regardless, pulling their blanket further over the two of them.  
  
"Exactly! Thank you, Ben," Mike said, moving closer to Stan on the couch. "It’s a coming of age movie, coming of age means you learn hard lessons. Now put the movie in and watch it for yourself."  
  
Eddie looked at Richie, who squeezed next to him on an armchair in the corner of the room after he stole it when Eddie got up and refused to give it back. He stared, almost depressingly, at the two of them, as Stan blushed and tangled their fingers together. Eddie would roll his eyes if it wasn't something that so obviously upset Richie. He moved further back into the chair, sending Richie's razor sharp elbow into his stomach, but he didn't complain.  
  
Richie stared at them for almost all of the movie, except for the funeral scene where he actually cried, but Eddie was half convinced it wasn't because he was sad about who died. To be honest, Eddie wasn't really sad either, he'd spent most of the movie thinking about all the places him and Richie touched, and how if they both faced each other, they'd barely even have to lean in before they were kissing.  
  
"You should tell them," Eddie told him later, when they were walking back to his house. They walked with their pinkies intertwined, which was a whole ball of feelings Eddie couldn't even begin to unwrap if he wanted to get anywhere before sunrise.  
  
"'Bout what?" He swung their hands until they broke apart, then ran ahead and slapped the sign that informed cars of the twenty-five miles an hour speed limit. All impulse and no control, Eddie thought.  
  
"If I say it you get weird, so I don't want to say it." He sighed when Richie just looked at him. "That you're gay, Richie. Over half of us are, it's not like they'll make fun of you, or _hurt_ you."  
  
Richie shifted, got weird like Eddie specifically did not want him to. "I don't know, Eds," he said, picking at the skin around his nails. His voice lowered in both volume and pitch, like he didn't want anyone to hear how serious he could be. "I-If I say something, and they know, what if...what if they hate me anyway?"  
  
There was his weird 'open to a fault' thing again. He talked about jacking off and his weird teenage bullshit more than any of them had ever asked, but when it came to parts of himself he wasn't totally comfortable with, he locked it all away and refused to bring it up. Eddie wanted to break down all of his walls and climb inside of them, hold Richie close and never let him go. He was kind of possessive, he knew, but he didn't think anything of it.   
  
"Do I hate you?" Eddie asked him.  
  
Richie avoided looking at him. "Do you have your suit for prom yet?"  
  
Eddie rolled his eyes and took Richie's hand again. "No, I'm going next week."  
  
"That's cool." Richie swallowed and kept walking down the street, shoulders tense and back ram-rod straight, but he didn't let go of Eddie's hand.  
  
\---  
  
Eddie stared at himself in the mirror, without really seeing a thing. The suit he picked was sleek black, for which Beverly had called him boring, but he liked the way it made him look, accentuating his shoulders and tapering down to his waist. The tux made his legs look longer than they actually are, like maybe he could clear 5'10" if he was on his tiptoes. His mother waited downstairs for him, yelling up to him about the dangers of renting tuxes or something he didn't really care about.  
  
He checked the clock. Five fifty. Richie would be there before six. Hopefully. If he was on time.  
  
That was another thing he had to deal with. Richie and him were going to prom together, but not together, but together because all of their friends had dates, but not together because _they_ weren't each other's dates. Eddie had been thinking about it for three months, since he begged Stan to not go with Mike before Stan gave him just. A _scathing_ glare and no accompanying comment, which had been enough for Eddie to realize what he was actually saying.  
  
He fixed his tie once more when he heard Richie honk the horn outside. He grabbed his wallet, just in case they went somewhere after, shoved it in his vest pocket, and ran down the stairs  
  
"Bye, ma!" He called, slamming his front door. He was about halfway to Richie's car before he looked up and actually saw what he was wearing.  
  
Eddie didn't know what it said about him that he still found Richie attractive in the ugliest powder blue suit he'd ever seen, but he did. His hair is gelled down from where he tried to tame it, but it's already coming up in the back, dark curls standing stark against the sunset behind him. His glasses are on, but they're clean, and the hand dangling over the steering wheel is doing weird things to Eddie's insides.  
  
Richie reached over the seats to roll the car window down. "Damn, Eds!" He yelled, even though Eddie was a good six feet away, and thus did not need to be yelled to. "Who let you out dressed like that?"  
  
He whooped as Eddie spun in a circle. He was blushing, he knew, but he didn't care, climbing into Richie's car. He buckled his seatbelt and looked up to find Richie looking out of his own window, but holding a plastic box in front of Eddie. A boutonniere, a white rose with smaller flowers surrounding it sat in front of him.  
  
"Richie?" He asked, taking the box from him.  
  
"I did mine before I left the house," he informed Eddie, twisting to show him the matching rose on his tux. "I thought, just because we don't have dates doesn't mean we can't get into the culture."  
  
"Thanks." Eddie fumbled with the flower, not wanting to mess it up, but also wanting to actually put the thing on so he could wear it and go to prom with Richie but not _withRichie_ , and be with his friends, but he's so excited his impatience is making him clumsy.  
  
"Dude, come on," Richie sighs, taking the pin from him. He puts it in without fanfare, pulling back as he finished with a hiss. He shook his hand. "Shit."  
  
"You okay?" Eddie asked, taking Richie's hand and inspecting the little dot of blood coming from the pin prick. He took a wipe and a bandaid out of his pocket, because he's prepared for any situation, thank you very much, and cleaned the dot and wrapped it. "There."  
  
Richie chuckled. "Thanks, Eds. Surprised you weren't afraid to touch me when I'm bleeding. That shit could be dangerous these days."  
  
Eddie could kill Richie sometimes. He heard his mom talking about the AIDS crisis all the time, ranting about it as the news reported it and always insisting on watching the doctor unwrap the needles at the doctor's office when he went for his flu shot to make sure they didn't "accidentally" use a used one. He'd heard enough about gay men and how they're the reason for all of this in the first place, how it was god's disease.  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Richie," Eddie spit. "You're not fucked up or wrong or _sick_ because you're fucking gay. You can _get_ sick, yeah, but so can anyone else. Now shut up and drive us to prom so I can make fun of that stupid tux with the rest of our friends." He huffed and sat back in his seat. "You look good, by the way, and I'm happy you're going with me."  
  
Richie smiled, all straight teeth and sideways angles. "Yes, sir!"  
  
\---  
  
In all his years of school, Eddie never imagined what his senior prom would be like. Over the past few years, he'd acknowledged that he'd go, and dance with his friends and drink punch and eat finger foods even if they were gross, and overall probably enjoy the experience, but he also felt as though that enjoyment could only go so far. Being bullied all of your life and growing up more or less an outcast from the rest of your class kind of limited the fun you could have during school-related activities, but he never assumed the issue could be from one of his own friends.  
  
Eddie stood stationary, by the punch bowl, watching as Richie spun Beverly around the dance floor. His jacket and vest were thrown over his chair at their table, and his shirt was unbuttoned almost halfway. He did. Not. Look. Good.  
  
But, _god_ he looked so good.  
  
His hair gel had all been sweat off, curls flying in haphazard directions, and his body, while awkward and lanky, made Eddie's stomach twist into knots. His baby blue pants made Eddie want to cry but he liked the way they clung to his hips and made it look like he kind of had an ass, even though Eddie knew by now that there truly was nothing there. His laughter echoed in their overly hot gym, over the music, bringing a smile to Eddie's face.  
  
"Do you want one?" Stan asked, turning to face Eddie as he held the punch ladle in his hand.  
  
Eddie blinked, tearing his eyes away from Richie. "Yeah, sure." He took the cup as Stan handed it to him and then poured himself another. "Why aren't you over with Mike?"  
  
"I don't want to get killed?" Stan said, downing all of the punch in one go. He's lucky the cups were small, Eddie guessed. "I can't _be_ around him, I don't know how, so I stand over here while he dances with Ben and then whenever the slow song comes on, we'll go outside." He stared down into the small empty cup. "We talked about it."  
  
Eddie nodded. "Can I say something fucked up?"  
  
Stan grabbed a cheese cube from the hors d'oeuvres set out on the table. "Go ahead."  
  
"Do you ever get mad? At Ben and Bev? For being able to just. Exist." He poured his full cup of punch back in the bowl. He was _not_ drinking that. "And I know Bev isn't, really, but--just, everyone here."  
  
"No, I get it. Every time I walk somewhere with Mike I have to watch everything I do so I don't put either of us in danger, and everyone here is just so...blatant." Stan turned to face Eddie fully. "Can I ask _you_ something personal?"  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Are you and Richie…?"  
  
Eddie blushed to his ears. "I don't...know."  
  
Eddie watched again as the song faded out and the beginning notes of "I Will Always Love You" poured in through the speakers. Couples paired off and Ben left Mike to dance with Beverly, and Richie bowed and presented her hand to him. Bill and Audra came back in, slightly disheveled, and Mike jogged off the dance floor, slowing down to talk to Stan. Stan smiled and nodded, then left to cross the gym and go outside. Eddie's heart sort of melted at how cute they were, while his body burned with anger at the fact that they had to go outside in the first place.  
  
"Is this any good?" Richie asked, spinning the punch ladle around in the bowl.  
  
_Are you and Richie...?_ _  
_ _  
_ Thirteen years he spent, scared of himself and his feelings, of saying something that would let anybody know how he felt. Five years he'd accepted who he was, but terrified of letting anybody know about how deep his feelings ran. He was seventeen, and in three months he would be in college across the country, and he wasn't afraid anymore. He had a choice now, to tell Richie how he felt and deal with the aftermath, or to back down and forever live his life knowing he could kill a demon clown from outer space, but he couldn't tell _one boy_ about his feelings for him.  
  
He was making his choice.  
  
"No. Can I talk to you for a second? Like, not here?" Eddie asked.  
  
Richie nodded and poured himself a cup of punch, which Eddie took from his hand and set down on the table anyway after he drank half of it.  
  
"Hey, I was gonna finish that."  
  
Eddie dragged him towards the door that led to the hallway, not outside where Stan and Mike were. "Shut up, Richie."  
  
\---  
  
Looking at Richie in the hallway, decorated in string lights and a fairy tale background to match the gym, felt like staring down the barrel of a gun. But instead of getting shot, he would be heartbroken, or he wouldn't. The small spark in the bottom of his heart that told him he might _not_ be heartbroken at the end of this conversation was all Eddie really had to hold onto.  
  
All of that confidence he had just moments ago drained when Richie asked, "Is everything okay, Eds?"  
  
Eddie snapped out of his thoughts. Richie's glasses were on crooked, he picked at the skin around his fingers, and his shirt was still unbuttoned, revealing his sweat-slick and bony chest that was somehow still hot. Eddie swallowed. Not now.  
  
He meant to say _I love you_ , he meant to say _I've loved you this entire time, this entire life, and I want to love you for the rest of it._ He wanted to tell Richie that when he looked into the future all he saw was coming home to him, and when he tried to imagine a life without him, he got so scared he could be sick.  
  
What came out of his mouth instead was: "Dance with me?"  
  
Richie looked more caught off guard than he did. "What?"  
  
"Dance with me," Eddie repeated. "It's the slow song at our senior prom, and I only want to dance with one person and that's you, so, dance with me."  
  
"O-Okay." He swayed in his spot. "Y'know, we could've done this in there. Just because we're...gay...doesn't mean we can't go in there and be normal like everyone else."  
  
Eddie sighed angrily and stepped away. A million thoughts coursed through his head as he mentally picked apart Richie's sentence.

"That's the point, Richie! We _are_ normal!" He started pacing. "It shouldn't _matter_ that we’re gay, but this whole place is fucked, so it does! And I don't _want_ to dance with you in there, like this!" He ranted, voice a little too loud for the empty hallway.  
  
"What do you mean, then?" Richie's eyebrows were furrowed up, standing confused in the middle of the hall. "Whatever you're trying to tell me, I'm not getting it, and I promise it's not on purpose."  
  
Eddie sighed and walked over to Richie, grabbed his hands and slid them onto his waist. His body was one million degrees, double that where Richie's hands rested, but he couldn't stop now. Carefully, he set his hands on either side of Richie's neck, thumb brushing over the heated skin he found there, slowly turning red the longer Eddie stood so close.  
  
"I think they're supposed to go on my shoulders, Eds." Richie said, freezing when they made eye contact.  
  
Eddie has never loved anyone or anything more than he loved Richie Tozier.  
  
"Richie?"  
  
"Yeah?" He breathed, voice barely there.  
  
"Shut _up_ ," Eddie said, and then kissed him.  
  
Richie's lips tasted like shitty fruit punch and they were chapped to all hell, but Eddie could spend the rest of his life right. here. Richie made a surprised noise and kissed him back, hands finally _holding_ Eddie's waist instead of just resting there, bunching up his suit as he dragged Eddie closer.  
  
Richie pulled back first. "What was that for?"  
  
"I love you, Richie," Eddie admitted, tears coming to his eyes. "I always have. And, and I want-- _God!_ I want to dance with you, now, and for as long as you'll let me because I _look_ at you…" Tears rolled down his face, and he moved to start pacing again. Before he could get too far, Richie pulled him back to face him.  
  
"You look at me…?" Richie goaded him to continue, his hands clasping behind Eddie's back so he couldn't get away. Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  
  
"I **_look_ ** at you, and, and I'm stuck in this town until August, but I look at you and I know it would be okay if I was stuck here my entire fucking life as _long_ as I got to be stuck next to you. Isn't that fucking stupid? It's _stupid_ how much I love you, Richie." Eddie was openly sobbing now, hugging Richie back and crying into his chest, which was dry now but still warm.  
  
"Eddie--"  
  
"And I look at you and I feel safe, like I could stand in the middle of this place and scream about this, about how much I love you, and nothing would happen because you'd know and I'd be _safe_ . I want to be your roommate in college, and only use one of our beds, and I want to get you out of this place and away from your parents and I want to protect you and I want to be the only person who can do that for you because I want to be _needed_ by you! Don't you see that?" He asked. "I always feel like I'm so obvious about this, and you don't _see_ it?"  
  
Richie stood dumbstruck. "I do _now_." He kissed Eddie's forehead and leaned back, removing Eddie's hands from behind his back and held them. "I love you too, Eds. When my parents found out, it was because they found all of our notes, the ones we write back and forth in class? He, uh, found them, and he asked about them. We got into this big fight, and I told him, I _told him_ , and he uh, that happened…"  
  
"That's what you wanted to tell me, that night in the park," Eddie whispered, smoothing his thumbs over Richie's knuckles. It wasn’t a question, but an answer to one. “That's what you couldn't tell me."  
  
Richie nodded, then laughed, wiping his eyes before any tears could fall. "I love you so much, Eddie."  
  
Eddie kissed him again, sparks igniting down his spine and spreading out his entire body. The slow song ended, or maybe it ended a while ago, Eddie didn't know. He didn't care. He kissed Richie and kissed him and kissed him, until prom was over and the world ended and all that existed was the two of them, in the hallway of their high school, without anything else to care about but each other.   
  
They had two weeks to graduation, and three months until college, and they still have the entire summer to survive in between, but as Richie took Eddie's hands again and danced with him in the hallway of their high school, outside of their senior prom, none of that mattered.  
  
This was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> some notes !! 
> 
> I'm trying to get back to writing again, since I fell off the path bc I've been busy with school recently and everything, so it's a skill work in progress, bc I write almost entirely in the passive voice and also I projected my entire personality onto richie bc. I'm the writer and I get to make the. decisions. also the title is from a poem I wrote thank you for reading!! 
> 
> anyway talk to me here or bother me on tumblr @lol-phan-af!! danke!!


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